icci knew she had done the right thing, the moral thing, yet the thought that came to haunt her victory was the night her father had come into her room and silently stroked her brow as she had held two of his fingers to her cheek. The man went to work for Father. Father never mentioned anything about it. His work kept him busy and away from home. Nicci's work took more and more of her time, as well. She missed seeing that look in his eyes. She guessed she was growing up. The next spring, when Nicci was thirteen, she came home one day from her work at the fellowship to find a woman in the sitting room with Mother. Something about the woman's demeanor made the hair at the back of Nicci's neck stand on end. Both women rose as Nicci set aside her list of names of people needing things. "Nicci, darling, this is Sister Alessandra. She's traveled here from the Palace of the Prophets, in Tanimura." The woman was older than Mother. She had a long braid of fine brown hair looped around in a circle and pinned to the back of her skull like a loaf of braided bread. Her nose was a little too big for her face, and she was plain, but not at all ugly. Her eyes focused on Nicci with an unsettling intensity, and they didn't dart about, the way Mother's always did. "Was it quite a journey, Sister Alessandra?" Nicci asked after she had curtsied. "All the way from Tanimura, I mean?" "Three days is all," Sister Alessandra said. A smile grew on her face as she took in Nicci's bony frame. "My, my. So little, yet, for such grownup work." She held out a hand toward a chair. "Won't you sit with us, dear?" "Are you a Sister with the fellowship?" Nicci asked, not really understanding who the woman was. "The what?" "Nicci," Mother said, "Sister Alessandra is a Sister of the Light." Astonished, Nicci dropped into a chair. Sisters of the Light had the gift, just like her and Mother. Nicci didn't know very much about the Sisters, except that they served the Creator. That still didn't settle her stomach. To have such a woman right there in her house was intimidating-like when she stood before Brother Narev. She felt an inexplicable sense of doom. Nicci was also impatient because she had duties waiting. There were donations to collect. She had older sponsors who accompanied her to some of the places. For other places, they said a young girl could get better results by herself, by shaming people who had more than they deserved. Those people, who had businesses, all knew who she was. They would always stammer and ask how her father was. As she had been instructed, Nicci told them how pleased her father would be to know they were thoughtful to the needy. In the end, most became civic-minded. Then, there were remedies Nicci needed to take to women with sick children. There wasn't enough clothing for the children, either. Nicci was trying to get some people to give cloth and other people to sew clothes. Some people had no homes, others were crowded together in little rooms. She was trying to get some rich people to donate a building. Also, Nicci had been assigned the task of locating jugs for women to bring water from the well. She needed to pay a visit to the potter. Soma of the older children had been caught stealing. Others had been fighting, and a few of them were beating younger children bloody. Nicci had been pleading on their behalf, trying to explain that they had no fair chance, and were only reacting to their cruel circumstance. She hoped to convince Father to take on at least a few so they might have work. The problems just kept mounting, without any end in sight. It seemed like the more people the fellowship helped, the more people there were who needed help. Nicci had thought she was going to solve the problems of the world; she was beginning to feel hopelessly inadequate. It was her own failing, she knew. She needed to work harder. "Do you read and write, dear?" the Sister asked. "Not very much, Sister. Mostly just names. I've much too much to do for those less fortunate than myself. Their needs must come before any selfish desires of my own." Mother smiled and nodded to herself. "Practically a good spirit in the flesh." The Sister's eyes teared. "I've heard about your work." "You have?" Nicci felt a flash of pride, but then she thought of how things never seemed to get better, despite all her efforts, and her sense of failure returned. Besides, Mother said pride was evil. "I don't see what's so special about what I do. The people in the streets are the ones who are special, because of their suffering in horrid conditions. They are the true inspiration." Mother smiled contentedly. Sister Alessandra leaned forward, her tone serious. "Have you learned to use your gift, child?" "Mother teaches me to do some small things, like how to heal little troubles, but I know it would be unfair to flaunt it over those less blessed than I, so I try my best not to use it." The Sister folded her hands in her lap. "I've been talking to your mother, while we waited for you. She's done a fine job of getting you started on the right path. We feel, however, that you would have so much more to offer were you to serve a higher calling." Nicci sighed. "Well, all right. Maybe I can get up a little earlier. But I already have my duties to the needy, and I will have to fit this other in as I can. I hope you understand, Sister. I'm not trying to get undeserved sympathy, honestly I'm not, but I hope you don't need this calling done too soon, as I'm already quite busy." Sister Alessandra smiled in a long-suffering sort of way. "You don't understand, Nicci. We would like you to continue your work with us at the Palace of the Prophets. You would be a novice at first, of course, but one day, you will be a Sister of the Light, and as such, you will carry on with what you have started." Panic welled up in Nicci like rising floodwaters. There were so many people who hung to life only by a thread she tended. She had friends at the fellowship whom she had come to love. She had so much to do. She didn't want to leave Mother, and even Father. He was evil, she knew, but he wasn't evil to her. He was selfish and greedy, she knew, but he still tucked her into bed, sometimes, and patted her shoulder. She was sure she would see something in his blue eyes again, if she just gave it time. She didn't want to leave him. For some reason, she desperately needed to again see that spark in his eyes. She was being selfish, she knew. "I have needy people here, Sister Alessandra." Nicci blinked at her tears. "My responsibility is to them. I'm sorry but I can't abandon them." At that moment, Father came in the door. He stopped in an awkward posture, his legs frozen in midstride, with his hand on the lever, staring at the Sister. "What's this, then?" Mother stood. "Howard, this is Alessandra. She is a Sister of the Light. She's come to-" "No! I'll not have it, do you hear? She's our daughter, and the Sisters can't have her." Sister Alessandra stood, giving Mother a sidelong glance. "Please ask your husband to leave. This is not his business." "Not my business? She's my daughter! You'll not take her!" He lunged forward to seize Nicci's outstretched hand. The Sister lifted a finger and, to Nicci's astonishment, he was thrown back in a sparkling flash of light. Father's back slammed against the wall. He slid down, clutching his chest as he gasped for breath. Tears bursting forth, Nicci ran for him, but Sister Alessandra snatched her by the arm and held her back. "Howard," Mother said through gritted teeth, "the child is my business to raise. I carry the Creator's gift. You gave your word when our union was arranged that if we had a girl and she had the gift I would have the exclusive authority to raise her as I saw fit. I believe this to be the right thing to do, what the Creator wants. With the Sisters she will have time to learn to read. She will have time to learn to use her gift to help people as only the Sisters can. You will keep your word. I will see to this. I'm sure you have work to which you must immediately return." With the flat of his hand, he rubbed his chest. Finally, his arms dropped to his sides. Head down, he shuffled to the door. Before he pulled closed the door, his gaze met Nicci's. Through the tears, she saw the spark in his eyes, as if he had things to tell her, but then it was gone, and he pulled the door shut behind himself. Sister Alessandra said it would be best if they left at once, and if Nicci didn't see him just now. She promised that if Nicci followed instructions, and after she was settled, and after she had learned to read, and after she had learned to use her gift, she would see him again. Nicci learned to read and to use her gift and mastered everything else she was supposed to master. She fulfilled all the requirements. She did everything expected of her. Her life, as a novice to become a Sister of the Light, was numbingly selfless. Sister Alessandra forgot her promise. She was not pleased to be reminded of it, and found more work that Nicci needed to do. Several years after she had been taken to the palace, Nicci again saw Brother Narev. She came across him quite by accident; he was working as a stablehand at the Palace of the Prophets. He smiled his slow smile with his eyes fixed on her. He told her that he had gotten the idea to go to the palace by her example. He said he wished to live long enough to see order come to the world. She thought it an odd occupation for him. He said that he found working for the Sisters morally superior to contributing his labor to the evil of profit. He said it mattered not if she chose to tell anyone at the palace anything about him or his work for the fellowship, but he asked her not to tell the Sisters that he was gifted, since they would not allow him to continue to stay and work in the stables if they knew, and he would refuse to serve them should they discover his gift, because, he said, he wanted to serve the Creator in his own quiet way. Nicci honored his secret, not so much out of any sense of loyalty, but mostly because she was kept far too busy with her studies and work to concern herself with Brother Narev and his fellowship. She rarely had occasion to see him, mucking out horse stalls, and as his importance in her childhood had faded into her past, she never really even gave him a second thought. The palace had work they wished her to put her attention to-much the same sort of work Brother Narev would have approved of. Only many years later did she come to discover his real reasons for having been at the Palace of the Prophets. Sister Alessandra saw to it that Nicci was kept busy. She was allowed no time for such selfish indulgences as going home for a visit. Twenty-seven years after she had been taken away to become a Sister of the Light, still a novice, Nicci again saw her father. It was at his funeral. Mother had sent word for Nicci to return home to see Father because he was is failing health. Nicci immediately rushed home, accompanied by Sister Alessandra. By the time Nicci arrived, Father was already dead. Mother said that for several weeks he had been begging her to send for his daughter. She sighed and said she put it off, thinking he would get better. Besides, she said, she hadn't wanted to disturb Nicci's important work-not for such a trivial matter. She said it had been the only thing he asked for: to see Nicci. Mother thought that was silly, since he was a man who didn't care about people. Why should he need to see anyone? He died alone, while Mother was out helping the victims of an uncaring world. By that time, Nicci was forty. Mother, though, still thinking of Nicci as a young woman because under the spell at the palace she had aged only enough to look to be maybe fifteen or sixteen, told her to wear a pretty, brightly colored dress, because it wasn't really a sad occasion, after all. Nicci stood looking at the body for a long time. Her chance to see his blue eyes again was forever lost. For the first time in years, the pain made her feel something, down deep inside. It felt good to feel something again, even if it was pain. As Nicci stood looking at her father's sunken face, Sister Alessandra told Nicci that she was sorry she had to take her away, but that in her whole life, she had not encountered a woman with the gift as powerful as it was in Nicci, and that such a thing as the Creator had given her was not to be wasted. Nicci said she understood. Since she had ability, it was only right that she use it to help those in need. At the Palace of the Prophets, Nicci was said to be the most selfless, caring novice they had under their roof. Everyone pointed to her, and told the younger novices to look to Nicci's example. Even the Prelate had commended her. The praise was but a buzz in her ear. It was an injustice to be better than others. Try as she might, Nicci could not escape her father's legacy of excellence. His taint coursed through her veins, oozed from every pore, and infected everything she did. The more selfless she was the more it only confirmed her superiority, and thus her wickedness. She knew that could mean only one thing: she was evil. "Try not to remember him like this," Sister Alessandra said after a long silence as they stood before the body. "Try to remember what he was like when he was alive." "I can't," Nicci said. "I never knew him when he was alive." Mother and her friends at the fellowship ran the business. She wrote Nicci joyful letters, telling her how she had put many of the needy to work at the armorers. She said the business could afford it, with all the wealth it had accumulated. Mother was proud that that wealth could now be put to a moral use. She said Father's death had been a cloaked blessing, because it meant help at last for those who had always deserved it most. It was all part of the Creator's plan, she said. Mother had to raise her prices in order to pay the wages of all the people she'd given work. A lot of the older workers left. Mother said she was glad they were gone because they had uncooperative attitudes. Orders fell behind. Suppliers began demanding to be paid before delivering goods. Mother discontinued having the armor proofed because the new workers complained that it was an unfair standard to be held to. They said they were trying their best, and that was what counted. Mother sympathized. The battering-mill had to be sold. Some of the customers stopped ordering armor and weapons. Mother said they would be better off without such intolerant people. She sought new laws from the duke to require work to be spread out equally, but the laws were slow in coming. The few remaining customers hadn't paid their account for quite a while, but promised to catch up. In the meantime, their goods were shipped, if late. Within six months of Father dying, the business failed. The vast fortune he had built over a lifetime was gone. Some of the skilled workers once hired by Father moved on, hoping to find work at armories in distant places. Most men who stayed could find only menial work; they were lucky to have that. Many of the new workers demanded Mother do something; she and the fellowship petitioned other businesses to take them on. Some business tried to help, but most were in no position to hire workers. The armory had been the largest employer in the area, and drew many other people employed in other occupations. Other businesses, like traders, smaller suppliers, and cargo earners, who had depended on the armory, failed for lack of work, Businesses in the city, everything from bakers to butchers, lost customers and were reluctantly forced to let men go. Mother asked the duke to speak with the king. The duke said the king was considering the problem. Like her father's armory, other buildings were abandoned as people left to find work in thriving cities elsewhere. Squatters, at the fellowship's urging, took over many of the abandoned buildings. The empty places became the sites of robberies and even murders. Many a woman who went near those places regretted it. Mother couldn't sell the weapons from her closed armory, so she gave them to the needy so they might protect themselves. Despite her efforts, crime only increased. In honor of all her good work, and her father's service to the government, the king granted Mother a pension that allowed her to stay in the house, with a reduced staff. She continued her work with the fellowship, trying to right all the injustice that she believed was responsible for the failure of the business. She hoped one day to reopen the shop and employ people. For her righteous work, the king awarded her a silver medal. Mother wrote that the king proclaimed she was as close to a good spirit in the flesh as he had ever seen. Nicci regularly received word of awards Mother was given for her selfless work. Eighteen years later, when Mother died, Nicci still looked like a young woman of perhaps seventeen. She wanted a fine black dress to wear to the funeral-the finest available. The palace said that it was unseemly for a novice to make such a selfish request, and it was out of the question. They said they would supply only simple humble clothes. When Nicci arrived home, she went to the tailor to the king and told him that for her mother's funeral she needed the finest black dress he had ever made. He told her the price. She informed him she had no money, but said she needed the dress anyway. The tailor, a man with three chins, waxy down growing from his ears, abnormally long yellowish fingernails, and an unfailing lecherous smirk, said there were things he needed, too. He leaned close, lightly holding her smooth arm in his knobby fingers, and intimated that if she would take care of his needs, he would take care of hers. Nicci wore the finest black dress ever made to her mother's funeral. Mother had been a woman who had devoted her entire life to the needs of others. Nicci could never again look forward to seeing her mother's cockroach-brown eyes. Unlike at her father's funeral, Nicci felt no pain reach down to touch that abysmal place inside her. Nicci knew she was a terrible person. For the first time, she realized that for some reason she simply no longer cared. From that day on, Nicci never wore any dress but black. One hundred and twenty-three years later, standing at the railing overlooking the great hall, Nicci saw eyes that stunned her with their sense of an inner value held dear. But what had been an uncertain ember in her father's eyes was ablaze in Richard's. She still didn't know what it was. She knew only that it was the difference between life and death, and that she had to destroy him. Now, at long last, she knew how. If only, when she had been little, someone had shown her father such mercy. Chapter 12 Trudging down the road between the edge of the city of Fairfield and the estate where the three Sisters had told her Emperor Jagang had set up his residence, Nicci scanned the surrounding jumble of the Imperial Order's encampment, looking for a specific station of tents. She knew they would be somewhere in the area; Jagang liked to have them close at hand. Regular sleeping tents, wagons, and men lay like a dark soot over the fields and hills as far as she could see. Sky and land alike seemed tinted by a dusky taint. Sprinkled through the dark fields, campfires twinkled, like a sky full of stars. The day was becoming oppressively dim, not only with the approach of evening, but also from the dull overcast of churning gray clouds. The wind kicked up in little fits, setting tents and clothes flapping, fluttering the campfires' flames, and whipping smoke this way and that. The gusts helped coat the tongue with the fetid stench of human and animal waste, smothering any pleasant but weak cooking aroma that struggled to take to the air. The longer the army stayed in place, the worse it would get. Up ahead, the elegant buildings of the estate rose above the dark grime at its feet. Jagang was there. Because he had access to Sisters Georgia, Rochelle, and Aubrey's minds, he would know Nicci was back. He would be waiting for her. The emperor would have to wait; she had something else to do, first. Without Jagang able to enter her mind, she was free to pursue it. Nicci saw what she was looking for, off in the distance. She could just make them out, standing above the smaller tents. She left the road and headed through the crowded snarl of troops. Even from the distance, she could distinguish the distinctive sounds coming from the group of special tents-hear it over the laughing and singing, the crackle of fires, the sizzle of meat in skillets, the scraping rasp of whetstones on metal, the ring of hammers on steel, and the rhythm of saws. Boisterous men grabbed at her arms and legs or tried to snatch her dress as she marched along, picking her way through the disorder. The rowdy soldiers were but a minor consideration; she simply pulled away, ignoring their mocking calls of love, as she made her way through the throng. When a husky soldier seized her wrist in his powerful grip, yanking her around to a jerking halt, she paused only long enough to loose her power and burst his beating heart within his chest. Other men laughed when they saw him collapse to the ground with a thud, not yet realizing he was dead, but none tried to claim his intended prize. She heard the words "Death's . Mistress" pass in whispers among the men. She finally made her way through the gauntlet. Soldiers played dice, ate beans, or snored in their bedrolls beside the tents where captives screamed under the agony of torture. Two men lugged a corpse, dragging some of its innards, out of a big tent. They threw the flaccid form in a wagon with a tangle of others. Nicci snapped her fingers at an unshaven soldier coming from the direction of another tent. "Let me see the list, Captain." She knew he was the officer in charge by the blue canvas cover of the register book he carried. He scowled at her a moment, but when he glanced down at her black dress, a look of recognition came over his face. He passed her the grubby, rumpled book. It had a deep crease across the middle, as if someone had accidentally sat on it. The pages that had fallen out had been pushed back in, but they never fit right and their edges stuck out here and there to become frayed and filthy. "Not much to report, Mistress, but please let His Excellency know that we've tried just about every skill known, and she isn't talking." Nicci opened the book and began scanning the list of recent names and what was known about them. "Her? Who are you talking about, Captain?" she mumbled as she read. "Why, the Mord-Sith, of course." Nicci turned her eyes up toward the man. "The Mord-Sith. Of course. Where is she?" He pointed at a tent a ways off through the disarray. "I know His Excellency said he didn't expect a witch of her dark talents to give us any information about Lord Rahl, but I was hoping to surprise him with good news." He hooked his thumbs behind his belt as he let out a sigh of frustration. "No such luck." Nicci eyed the tent for a moment. She heard no screams. She had never before seen one of those women, the Mord-Sith, but she knew a little about them. She knew that using magic against one was a deadly mistake. She went back to reading the entries in the register. There was nothing of much interest to her. Most of the people were from around here. They were merely a sampling collected to check what they might know. They would not have the information she wanted. Nicci tapped a line near the end of the writing in the book. It said "Messenger." "Where is this one?" The captain tilted his head, indicating a tent behind him. "I put one of my best questioners with him. Last I checked, there was nothing from him yet-but that was early this morning." It had been all day since he had checked. All day could be an eternity under torture. Like all the rest of the tents used for questioning prisoners, the one with the messenger stood above the surrounding field tents, which were only large enough for soldiers to lie in. Nicci pushed the book at the officer's thick gut. "Thank you. That will be all." "You'll be giving His Excellency a report, then?" Nicci nodded absently at his question. Her mind was already elsewhere. "You'll tell him that there is little to be learned from this lot?" No one was eager to stand before Jagang and admit they were unable to accomplish a task, even if there was nothing to accomplish. Jagang did not appreciate excuses. Nicci nodded as she strode away, heading for the tent holding the messenger. "I'll be seeing him shortly. I'll give him the report for you, Captain." As soon as she threw back the flap and entered, she saw that she was too late. The messy remains of the messenger lay on a narrow wooden table affixed with glistening tools of the trade. The messenger's arm hung down off the sides, dripping warm blood. Nicci saw that the questioner had a folded piece of paper. "What have you there?" "A map of what?" "Where this fellow's been. I drew it all out from what he volunteered." He laughed at his own humor. She didn't. "Really," Nicci said. The man's grin was what had her attention. A man like this only grinned when he had something he'd been seeking, something to bring him favor in the eyes of his superiors. "And where has the man been?" "To see his leader." He waved the paper like a treasure map. Tired of the game, Nicci snatched the booty from his hand. She unfolded the wrinkled yellow paper and saw that it was indeed a map, with rivers, the coastline, and mountains all meticulously drawn out. Even mountain passes were noted. Nicci could tell that the map was authentic. When she had lived at the Palace of the Prophets, the New World was a far-off and mysterious place, rarely visited by anyone but a few Sisters. Any Sister who ventured there always kept exacting records that were added to maps at the palace. Along with many other esoteric items, all novices memorized those maps in the course of their studies. Even though, at the time, she had never expected to travel to the New World, she was thoroughly familiar with the lay of the land there. Nicci scrutinized the paper in her hands, carefully surveying the geography, overlaying everything on it that was new onto the memorized map in her mind. The soldier pointed a thick finger at a single bloody fingerprint on the map. "That there is where Lord Rahl himself is hiding-on that dot, in those mountains." Nicci's breath paused. She stared at the paper, burning the line of every stream and river, every mountain, every road, trail, and mountain pass, every village, town, and city into her memory. "What did this man confess before he died?" She looked up. "His Excellency is waiting for my report. I was just on my way to see him." She snapped her fingers impatiently. "Let's have it all." The man scratched his beard. His fingernails were crusted with dried blood, "You'll tell him, won't you? You'll tell His Excellency that Sergeant Wetzel was the one who got the information out of the messenger?" "Of course," Nicci assured him. "You will receive full credit. I have no need of such recognition." She tapped the gold ring through her lower lip. "The Emperor is always-every moment of every day-in my mind. He no doubt this very moment sees through my eyes that you, not I, are the one who succeeded in getting the information. Now, what did this man confess?" Sergeant Wetzel scratched his beard again, apparently trying to decide if be could trust her to credit him, or if he should be sure and take the information to Jagang. There was little trust among those in the Imperial Order, and good reason to distrust everyone. As he scratched his beard, flakes of dried blood stuck in its curly hair. Nicci stared into his red-rimmed eyes. He smelled of liquor. "If you don't report everything to me, Sergeant Wetzel, and I mean right now, I will have you up on the table next, and I will have your report between your screams, and when I'm done with you, they will throw you in the wagon with the rest of the corpses." He dipped his head twice in surrender. "Of course. I only wanted to be sure His Excellency knew of my success." When Nicci nodded, he went on. "He was just a messenger. We had a small unit of six men doing deep scouting patrol. They went on a circle far to the north, around any enemy forces. They had one of the gifted women with them to help them remain at a good distance, so they wouldn't be detected. They were somewhere northwest of the enemy force, when by chance they came across this man. They brought him back for me to question. I discovered he was one of a number of regular messengers sent back and forth to report to Lord Rahl." Nicci waggled a finger at the paper. "But this, down here, looks like the enemy force. Are you saying Rich . . . Lord Rahl, isn't with his men? With his army?" "That's right. The messenger didn't know why. His only duty was to carry troop positions and regular news of their condition to his master." He tapped the map in her hand. "But right here is where Lord Rahl is hiding, along with his wife." Nicci looked up, her mouth falling open. "Wife." Sergeant Wetzel nodded. "The man said Lord Rahl married some woman known as the Mother Confessor. She's hurt, and they're hiding way up there, in those mountains." Nicci remembered Richard's feelings for her, and her name: Kahlan. Richard being married put everything in a new light. It had the potential to disrupt Nicci's plans. Or . . . "Anything else, Sergeant?" "The man said Lord Rahl and his wife have one of them women, them Mord Sith, guarding them." "Why are they up there? Why aren't Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor with their army? Or back in Aydindril? Or in D'Hara, for that matter?" He shook his head. "This messenger was just a low-ranking soldier who knew how to ride fast and read the lay of the land. That's all he knew: they're up there, and they're all alone." Nicci was puzzled by such a development. "Anything else? Anything at all?" He shook his head. She laid her hand on the man's back, between his shoulder blades. "Thank you, Sergeant Wetzel. You have been more help than you will ever know." As he grinned, Nicci released a flow of power that shot up through his spine and instantly incinerated his brain inside his skull. He dropped with a crash to the hard ground, the air fleeing his lungs in a grunt. Nicci held up the map she had committed to memory and with her gift set it aflame. The paper crackled and blackened as the fire advanced across the rivers and cities and mountains all carefully drawn out on it, until the hot glow surrounded the bloody fingerprint over a dot in the mountains. She let the paper rise from her fingers as it was consumed in a final puff of smoke. Ash, like black snow, drifted down onto the body at her feet. Outside the tent where the Mord-Sith was held, Nicci cast a wary gaze across the surrounding camp to see if anyone was watching. No one was paying any attention to the business of the torture tents. She slipped in through the opening. Nicci winced at the sight of the woman laid out on the wooden table. She finally made herself draw a breath. A soldier, his hands red from his work, scowled at Nicci. She didn't wait for him to object, but simply commanded, "Report." "Not a word from her," he growled. Nicci nodded and placed her hand on the soldier's broad back. Wary of her hand, he began to step away from it, but he was too late. The man fell dead before he knew he was in trouble. Had she the time, she would have made him suffer first. Nicci made herself step up to the table and look down into the blue eyes. The woman's head trembles slightly. "Use your power . . . to hurt me, witch." A small smile touched Nicci's lips. "To the bitter end, you would fight, wouldn't you?" "Use your magic, witch." "I think not. You see, I know a bit about you women." Defiance blazed up from the blue eyes. "You know nothing." "Oh, but I do. Richard told me. You would know him as your Lord Rahl, but be was for a time my student. I know that women like you have the ability to capture the power of the gifted, if that power is used against you. Then, you can turn it against us. So, you see, I know better than to use my power on you." The woman looked away. "Then torture me if that is what you came to do. You will learn nothing." "I'm not here to torture you," Nicci assured her. "Then what do you want?" "Let me introduce myself," Nicci said. "I am Death's Mistress." The woman's blue eyes turned back, betraying for the first time a glint of hope, "Good. Kill me." "I need you to tell me some things." "I'll not . . . tell you . . . anything." It was a struggle for her to speak. "Nor anything. Kill me." Nicci picked up a bloody blade from the table and held it before the blue eyes, "I think you will." The woman smiled. "Go ahead. It will only hasten my death. I know how much a person can take. 1 am not far from the spirit world. But no matter what you do, I'll not talk before I die." "You misunderstand. I do not wish you to betray your Lord Rahl. Didn't you hear your questioner hit the ground? If you turn your head a little more, perhaps you can see that the man who did this to you is now dead. I don't wish you to tell me any secrets." The woman glanced, as best she could, toward the body on the ground. Her brow twitched. "What do you mean?" Nicci noticed that she didn't ask to be freed. She knew she was well past the point of hope to live. The only thing she could hope for, now, was for Nicci to end her agony. "Richard was my student. He told me that he was once a captive of the Mord~ Sith. Now, that's not a secret, is it?" "No." "That's what I want to know about. What is your name?" The woman turned her face away. Nicci put a finger to the woman's chin and turned her head back. "I have an offer to make you. I won't ask you anything secret that you aren't supposed to tell. fly not ask you to betray your Lord Rahl-I wouldn't want you to. Those are not the things that are of interest to me. If you cooperate" -Nicci held up the blade again for the woman to see-"I will end it quickly for you. I promise. No more torture. No more pain. Just the final embrace of death." The woman's lips began trembling. "Please," she whispered, the hope returning to her eyes. "Please . . . kill me?" "What is your name?" Nicci asked. Nicci, for the most part, was numb to sights of torture, but this she found disturbing. She avoided looking away from the woman's face, down at the naked body, so as not to have to consider what had been done to her. Nicci could not imagine how this woman could keep from screaming, or even how she was able to speak. "Hania." The woman's hands and ankles were shackled to the table, so she was unable to move much other than her head. She stared up into Nicci's eyes. "Will you kill me? . . . Please?" "I will, Hania, I promise. Quickly and efficiently-if you tell me what I want to know." "I can't tell you anything." In despair, Hania seemed to sag against the table, knowing her ordeal was to go on. "I won't." "I only want to know about when Richard was a captive. Did you know he was once a captive of the Mord Sith?" "Of course." "I want to know about it." "Why?" "Because 1 want to understand him." Hania's head rocked side to side. She actually smiled. "None of us understands Lord Rahl. He was tortured, but he never . . . took revenge. We don't understand him." "I don't either, but I hope to. My name is Nicci. I want you to know that. I'm Nicci, and I'm going to deliver you from this, Hania. Tell me about it. Please? I need to know. Do you know the woman who captured him? Her name?" The woman considered for a moment before she spoke, as if testing in her own mind whether or not the information was in any way secret, or could in any way harm him. "Derma," Hania whispered at last. "Derma. Richard killed her in order to escape-he already told me that much. Did you know Denna before she died?" "Yes." "I'm not asking anything of secret military importance, am I?" Hania hesitated. She finally shook her head. "So, you knew Denna. And did you know Richard at the time? When he was there, and she had him? Did you know he was her captive?" "We all knew." "Why is that?" "Lord Rahl-the Lord Rahl at the time-" "Richard's father." "Yes. He wanted Denna to be the one to train Richard, to prepare him to answer without hesitation whatever questions Darken Rahl asked him. She was the best at what we do." "Good. Now, tell me everything about it. Everything you know." Hania drew a shaky breath. It took a moment before she spoke again. "I won't betray him. I am experienced at what is being done to me. You cannot trick me. I will not betray Lord Rahl just to spare myself this. I have not endured this much to betray him now." "I promise not to ask anything about the present-about the war-anything that would betray him to Jagang." "If I tell you only about when Denna had him, and not about now, about the war or where he is or anything else, do you give me your word that you will end it for me-that you will kill me?" "I give you my word, Hania. I wouldn't ask you to betray your Lord Rahl-I know him and have too much respect for him to ask that of you. All I wish is to understand him for personal reasons. I was his teacher, last winter, instructing him in the use of his gift. I want to understand him better. I need to understand him. I believe I can help him, if I do." "And then you will help me?" There was a shimmer of hope along with the tears. "You will kill me, then?" This woman could aspire to nothing more, now. It was all that was left to her in this life: a quick death to finally end the pain. "Just as soon as you're finished telling me all about it, I will end your suffering, Hania." "Do you swear it by your hope to an eternity in the underworld in the warmth of the Creator's light?" Nicci felt a sharp shiver of pain wail up from her very soul. She had started out near to one hundred and seventy years before wanting nothing but to help, and yet she could not escape the fate of her evil nature. She was Death's Mistress. She was a fallen woman. She ran the side of a finger down Hania's soft cheek. The two women shared a long and intimate look. "I promise," Nicci whispered. "Quick and efficient. It will be the end of your pain." Tears overflowing her eyes, Hania gave a little nod. CHAPTER 13 The estate was a grand place, she supposed. Nicci had seen grandeur such as this before. She had also seen much greater majesty, to be sure. She had lived among such splendor for nearly one and t